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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28144896">The High Lord, High Lady, and Shadowsinger (tribute)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisAndHisAlone/pseuds/HisAndHisAlone'>HisAndHisAlone</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, MAAS Sarah J. - Works</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Daemati (ACoTaR), Erotica, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, M/M, Multi, No beta - we die like Illyrians, One Shot, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, Wing Kink, Wings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:14:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,111</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28144896</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisAndHisAlone/pseuds/HisAndHisAlone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Mor finally informed Azriel of her sexual preferences, Feyre and Rhys got worried about his brooding and invited him to their bed. They have had several sexual encounters over a few months, and last night Az returned from a lengthy intel-gathering mission. Feyre and Rhys have welcomed Azriel home as only they can, and he fell asleep in their bed, exhausted from his travels.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Feyre Archeron/Azriel/Rhysand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>115</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The High Lord, High Lady, and Shadowsinger (tribute)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/yafan92/gifts">yafan92</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25816558">Wingspan</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/yafan92/pseuds/yafan92">yafan92</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>FanFic inception! My title is intentionally similar but different to represent that it's based on her work. This installment is intended to take place following yafan92’s Part 5, so you’ll probably want to read those first. You will not be disappointed!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was warm. He was safe. As Azriel surfaced from his deep, dreamless slumber he was disoriented. After a month of hard travel, exhaustion, and rough sleeping, it took a moment to pull together the groggy scraps of memory from the night before. A warm, familiar female body was pressed against his chest, a large, muscled arm was draped across them both, and a membranous wing cocooned them, muting the morning sunlight that would surely have awoken him much too soon otherwise. The heavenly, mingled scent of them caressed him awake.</p><p>He had shared their bed many times now, but he had never awoken here, with them. Rhys had not specified whether he should remain with them after Feyre fell asleep that first night, so Azriel had silently risen, dressed, and returned to his room, keenly aware of violet eyes upon him as he did so. He didn’t know what it meant, but he had seen no indication in Rhys’s sated gaze, no light tapping against his mental shields. Feyre hadn’t so much as stirred. So, he had left. As he had after every encounter since. Caution had kept him alive for centuries and he would err on its side for now. His bed had seemed too large, too cold, and too empty.</p><p>And so he kept his eyes closed and his breathing deep and even, not wanting to alert his companions to his wakefulness. Not yet.</p><hr/><p>That first week of travel had been uneventful. He had flown for much of that first day and savored the taste of the wind and the sunlight warming his wings, the tranquil quiet of solitude and the beauty of the land stretching for miles to the horizon. He could have winnowed to the first Illyrian camp, but he wanted to lose himself in his thoughts and the rhythm of his wingbeats.</p><p>Learning that Mor preferred females had been a shock, and it had hurt like hell, but nothing, nothing like the shock of that first invitation to his High Lord and Lady’s bed. He had never heard of bonded mates taking lovers before. It was possible that it had happened in the past and been handled with enough discretion that nobody had ever known, but he had never considered that the primal, nearly animalistic bond would allow them to tolerate it. Rhys and Feyre’s bond had always seemed different than the few others he had observed but, Cauldron damn him, he had been struck dumb that day at breakfast.</p><p>And every day since he had wondered how long it might last.</p><p>So he had spent that first day of travel in the sky, sorting through thoughts that swirled like his shadows. He had quieted exactly none of them by the time he’d landed and made camp for the night and he had resolved to put them from his mind and focus on this mission. He even managed to master himself for a few days. Mostly. But by the end of that first week, already grimy from travel and weary of sleeping in the cold, the ache of missing them had barreled into his chest with the force of an ash bolt. It had hollowed him out in a way he hadn’t felt for months; had hollowed him out worse than Mor’s confession, which he had already been partially at peace with.</p><p>No, he hadn’t felt that empty in a long, long while. And he hadn’t expected it now.</p><p>His thoughts had spiraled for the remainder of the month, and by the time he had leapt into the air yesterday to make the last leg of the journey home he had convinced himself that their pity had probably run its course, and he was likely on his own once more. He had known he was not worthy of sharing their bed, had known that it would not last. They had been generous to have even considered sharing their bed with him and he was grateful beyond measure. But he had known it would all be temporary. He’d even considered delaying his return just to delay the inevitable, but he had reports to provide to his High Lord and Lady and would not compromise his task.</p><p>He had hesitated, circling, when he’d spotted Feyre reading on the balcony. He told himself it was a coincidence; that it was a nice day and she wouldn’t have been waiting for him. But her radiant delight when she looked up and recognized him had given him the courage to alight near her chair. Her heartfelt welcome had nearly buckled his knees, and it had been a soothing balm to his razor-edged thoughts.</p><p>As had everything that came after.</p><p>And so Azriel breathed evenly, feigning sleep, and pulled their scents down deep into himself, hoping to prolong this feeling that tightened his throat and squeezed a fist around his heart.</p><hr/><p>He must have dozed lightly, for he was in that liminal place between waking and sleep when he felt Feyre nudge against the shield he held around his mind. He opened to her before he had even fully awoken, and he came the rest of the way to consciousness as he felt her slip inside. He stiffened involuntarily at the lovely, foreign sensation. Rhys had entered his mind before, just a handful of times over the centuries and never when they had been in bed together. Rhys might like it rough, but he had always protected his mind and his wings from his lovers, even Azriel. But Feyre had only ever spoken into his mind in the way a person would stand outside an open doorway. He had never felt the silken caress of her, mind to mind this way. So different from Rhys’s dark, imperious presence. His eyes opened and locked upon hers, finding her studying his face.</p><p><em>“Is this all right?”</em> Her mental voice was low and somehow breathless. He swallowed hard, sending approval to her in a vague push, unable to form words. How long had she been awake, gazing at him? He didn’t know.</p><p>Where Rhys’s mental touch felt like dark talons, hers felt like the silken brush of wings in the night sky. Her presence in his mind was like a song of sun and sea and starlight, fire and ice and deepest dark. It overwhelmed and consumed him, and he stiffened further as his eyes drifted to Rhys’s face, still relaxed and youthful with sleep, his eyes closed. He returned his gaze to Feyre and quirked an eyebrow in silent question.</p><p>She chuckled in his mind, low and sultry, and quirked a corner of her mouth. <em>“You fell asleep last night rather quickly. And understandably,”</em> she added quickly as a pang of something like guilt went through him. Gods, he hadn’t even managed to last until she found her pleasure. He had spilled into her when she had bitten him, completely undone by the fullness of Rhys inside him and the hot, slick tightness of her. She’d had to ask Rhys to help her finish.</p><p>Shame flamed in his cheeks at the memory. He had rolled out from between them and fallen asleep in their bed within moments like the worst sort of patron at a brothel. He hadn’t performed so poorly since he’d been a young male – hadn’t failed to satisfy his lover that way in centuries. He’d spent a month away from them, had convinced himself that they would have moved on from whatever phase this was for them, and this was how he showed the depth of his gratitude, his relief? He closed his eyes for a moment, internally flaying himself.</p><p>Inside his shields as she was, Feyre read the wordless thoughts as they flickered. When he reopened his eyes her gaze had darkened, turning serious.</p><p><em>“You are not a phase, Azriel. You are not some distraction in our immortal existence.”</em> Her eyes were smoldering with an emotion Azriel could not wholly identify. <em>“I am sorry that we didn’t make that clear. You are loved, Az. You are worthy.”</em> With the last word she stroked his mind with a touch that was at once gentle and full of fire. He shuddered, that tightness in his throat squeezing so hard he could barely breathe. <em>“You are worthy, Azriel.”</em> And her mental touch slid down his spine, across his wings, slid through every fiber of him as he felt his heart crack and mend in the space of a beat.</p><p>His eyes flew to Rhys again. His blood was heating and he could smell her arousal – could feel it as her mind wrapped around his own. His pulse was beginning to thud in his ears as other parts of him stiffened. <em>“I can’t… I can’t touch you while he’s sleeping.”</em></p><p><em>“Oh, Rhysand will be along shortly,”</em> she sent, the words tinged with cocky amusement. <em>“You both require so much sleep in your old age.”</em> Again, her mind enveloped his and this time he felt her stroking phantom hands down his stomach, lower, teasing him. He had never felt anything like this, had not known these sensations existed as he began panting. Rhys stirred slightly, his arm tightening around Azriel as he shifted.</p><p>And then, as she sent pleasure racing through him, stroking with those phantom hands, she began to send images. The sight of him removing his shirt slowly that first night. He and Rhys sitting on the bed as she unabashedly appraised them. Their sweat-slick skin as they had sparred. Of him, kneeling behind Rhys, gripping his wings as he slid into him. On and on, the images came and behind them was her awe, her desire and love glowing as brightly as a star. Not the same love she had for Rhys, never that. But the love they both had for him. Loving him as one soul in two bodies might love another.</p><p>He was aching. He was on fire. She hadn’t even laid a hand on his flesh yet beyond where their bodies touched in the bed. Something glowed forge-bright in his chest and it healed and shattered him. She sent him the image of his own face, eyes rolling back as Rhys had entered him the night before, along with the primal surge of arousal she had felt, and the restraint that had held him motionless finally cracked. He gasped softly despite himself, arching toward her involuntarily and pressing the solid length of him more firmly against her.</p><p>Rhys’s eyes opened then, a drowsy, feline smirk curling his lips. “Ah, Feyre darling. So kind of you to awaken our dear Azriel in a manner befitting our home and hospitality,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. His fingers splayed on Azriel’s hip where his hand rested. The wing around them withdrew slowly, stretching, and then tucked to Rhys’s back. Feyre’s eyes danced wickedly, still fixed on Azriel’s face.</p><p>“He finally stays to sleep with us overnight, and you think I would show him anything less than our full appreciation?” Her smile turned wolfish.</p><p>Azriel was stunned. <em>Finally</em> stay? She had said it as though they had wanted him to. He’d had no idea. To curl up with them in their most private, shared sanctuary… He knew they wouldn’t want him there every night, but he supposed they might have left it to him to decide whether to stay or to go after their trysts.</p><p>He felt the dark talons of Rhys’s mind brush gently against his shields, still in place though he had allowed Feyre inside.<em> “May I?”</em> The dark amusement in that mental voice sent a thrill through him. Nearly shaking, he opened again and Rhys slipped into his mind to join Feyre where she wrapped around him.</p><p>Rhys had come into his mind before, but… Gods, not like this. He’d done it to see Azriel’s memories sometimes, after an interrogation or meeting. Clinical, analytical, and detached. Never this sensual caress dripping with intent. Azriel felt the shadows inside him rising to play with Rhysand’s darkness.</p><p>Like calls to like.</p><p>His shadows had always been drawn to Rhys’s own, which was undoubtedly the reason they had turned to each other for release in years long past. Azriel had never had another male lover and as far as he knew, Rhys had not, either. He had never asked. Yet long after they had been drawn together as friends, as bastards of sorts, and as brothers, they had been drawn together physically as though their magic wanted to play. It had been awkward at first, to say the least. They had both taken lovers over the centuries but somehow always found themselves drawn back together. Azriel had felt a pang of regret when he had first seen how wildly in love Rhysand was with Feyre, but he had been happy for his brother. Rhys deserved happiness more than anyone.</p><p>But it had never been like this. Sometimes the sex had been gentle and soothing, more often it was a rough battle of dominance, but he had never, never, felt anything like this. His two lovers twined themselves around him, through him, and he lost all sense of where any of them began or ended. It was pleasure and love and eternity.</p><p>He was dimly aware as their bodies moved around him, as they encouraged him to sit up so that Feyre could slide behind him, propping herself against the pillows and headboard. He splayed his wings as they nudged him to lean back, and she wrapped her arms around him. Her left arm slid under his wing and along his ribs, right arm coming up and over his shoulder and onto his chest. She held him tightly to her, fingers stroking. He was drowning in them, struggling to maintain sight and sound and awareness as their mental caresses sent pleasure through his entire body.</p><p>But then Rhys was kneeling between his legs, leaning down, and the look of dark promise the High Lord shot him through his lashes brought Azriel’s attention to a fine point. He stopped breathing as Rhys leaned down and licked slowly up the length of him, violet eyes piercing hazel. He shuddered and Feyre’s grip around him tightened, tethering him to the bed – to the earth. Rhys swirled his tongue at the tip of his cock, and he twitched involuntarily, hips thrusting slightly despite his efforts to remain still.</p><p>With one last conspiratorial glance to Feyre, Rhys wrapped his lips around his length and slid downward, wrapping his large, calloused hand around the base. And just then Feyre – cruel, wicked Feyre – scratched her nails across his chest and slid another wave of pleasure down his spine.</p><p><em>“I missed the taste of you,”</em> Rhys murmured into his mind. He might have whimpered. This was drowning. He was drowning in them, in the most exquisite pleasure so powerful it was nearly pain. Nearly, but not quite. He felt Feyre’s lips press to the side of his neck and growled low in his throat, the sound guttural and raw.</p><p>Fuck, Rhys was talented. Azriel had been with many females with whom he had found immense pleasure, but Gods help him he had never had any other partner whose mouth affected him as Rhys’s did. Feyre had been close. The pleasure pounded through him again and again, like storm waves on a cliff face. He realized dimly that they must be able to control whether their mental caresses drove him toward release. This level of pleasure should have brought him over the edge like the inexperienced teenager he had jokingly accused Rhys to be.</p><p>But he was building, he could feel the coiling in his gut tightening and spreading. He moaned, a helpless sound that broke off raggedly as he fought for more air, the fingers of one scarred hand tangling in the sheets while the other tangled in Rhys’s hair. He was lifting his hips in time with Rhys’s movements and his head had lolled back onto Feyre’s shoulder. And then the cruel minx slid her right hand up and across the top edge of his wing, traveling to the base of his talon, and squeezed.</p><p>He bucked, crying out, driving deeper into Rhys’s generous mouth. Rhys groaned and the vibration rumbled into his cock as Rhys gripped his hips and increased his pace, falling into rhythm with Feyre’s hand on his wing. Her other arm locked tightly around his abdomen, fingertips digging into his muscles, clutching her to him as though she could hold his fracturing sanity together. As though she could press him into her heart.</p><p>“Azriel,” they murmured his name in perfect unison, their voices melding inside him.</p><p>His mental shield shattered completely. He had not trained for this; Gods, it was a miracle he had held the shield as long as he had with two daemati lovers inside his mind. He could hold the shield in his sleep, but here it slipped away from him and he quickly abandoned the attempt to piece it back together, recognizing the futility of it. Rhys’s power shielded the room, as always, yet Azriel’s mental shields were so deeply ingrained that he had maintained them even so. He was bare, defenseless, absolutely helpless if they had wanted to harm him. They could shatter him completely and irrevocably with no chance that he could push them out. But he felt them protecting, guarding him, even as they stroked pleasure and love through him like tendrils of lightning.</p><p>He was dimly aware that he was panting their names in a near-whisper, chanting them like a prayer, his hand now fisted hard in Rhys’s hair. The one that had been clenched in the sheets was now gripping Feyre’s calf where it lay along his outer thigh, but he didn’t remember moving it. He sent a silent, wordless warning to Rhys that he was close. He could barely remember how to breathe. He couldn’t-</p><p>He couldn’t-</p><p>His muscles clenched and he gritted his teeth as his release rose to the brink within him, and then he shattered. White hot pleasure barreled through him with a ferocity that he had never known, threatening to rip him apart and turn the pieces to ash. The edges of his vision darkened as Rhysand sucked him hard and he spilled himself into his High Lord’s mouth. His shadows lashed out from him, roiling and writhing like the tempest inside him, curling around his lovers. His moan tore from his throat in a long, low sound that he did not recognize as he splintered apart. He was silently, tearlessly sobbing from the force of it as it shook him, as their love for him flowed into his mind and filled his soul.</p><p>It went on and on. Their minds caressed him, drawing out his pleasure as they held him tightly, their essences melding into one as they experienced his pleasure. He felt Feyre shudder against him as she rode the phantom wave of his orgasm, her soft breathless moan at his ear, and he felt Rhys’s fingers dig harder into his hips as the High Lord spilled himself onto the sheets.</p><p>He came down slowly, peripheral vision returning as his heart slowed. Rhys moved to his side, vanishing the mess at the foot of the bed and wrapping an arm around him, resting his head on Azriel’s chest. He threw one leg over Azriel’s and held him tightly. Feyre’s hand moved from his wing to stroke Azriel’s hair, the other still wrapped around him, her fingertips near Rhys’s face.</p><p>He didn’t know how long they all lay there catching their breath, but their arms around him never faltered. Their minds had wrapped around his in a protective cocoon, pulling away enough to allow him the privacy of his thoughts, but still holding him, shielding him while his own shields lay in tatters somewhere within him. In his long, long life, Azriel had never felt so cherished.</p><hr/><p>His sense of time slowly returned as his mind wandered. The landscape of his thoughts was peaceful and quiet for the first time in weeks. Months. Years, if he was being honest. He had loved Mor for centuries - for half a millennia, Gods damn him. He had tortured and tormented himself with that love. And then had tormented himself with Rhys and Feyre; that he was not worthy of their grace and beauty and kindness. Not to mention their stations. Those roiling thoughts, with their sharp edges, eased within him. You are worthy, Feyre had said. His eyes pricked.</p><p><em>“You are, you know,”</em> Feyre said into his mind, sensing the direction of his thoughts as they had grown louder within him. Rhys hummed his agreement against his chest. <em>“I meant it, Azriel.</em> We <em>meant it. We want you, and not as some temporary diversion. You are ours, Az. For as long as you wish to be.”</em></p><p>His face heated, and he knew they could feel this thing he had no words for. And he would be damned – damned - if he allowed them to bring him so much pleasure without reciprocating. He had failed to do so last night, in his utter exhaustion, and would not do so again. He leaned away from Feyre’s chest, disentangling Rhys as he rose with a low growl.</p><p>He turned to face them. “You’ve been holding out on me,” he said hoarsely, the first words he had actually spoken aloud since waking.</p><p>Their expressions were priceless, two sides of a coin. Rhys’s dark, sardonic grin contrasted absurdly with Feyre’s expression of beatific innocence, and he nearly choked on his burst of laughter.</p><p>Instead, he pinned them with a dark stare full of intent.</p><p>Reaching, he grabbed Feyre’s ankles and gently but firmly pulled her away from the headboard until she was lying next to Rhys. His shadows began to snake up both of their legs without conscious thought, caressing them with tendrils of night. He considered binding them with those shadows, but they had taken him apart so thoroughly that he decided he’d rather save that for another time than to have them vanish when he lost control. If he lost control, he told himself, steeling his resolve.</p><p>His shadows continued stroking, and he considered them for a moment. Experimentally, he reached toward where Feyre’s presence was coiled around him and imagined that he stroked her. Her whole body shuddered, and her eyes turned molten where they met his. He stroked again, reaching for Rhys’s dark presence this time, and the High Lord hissed through his teeth, his eyes widening.<br/>Smirking, he stroked them once more. He had never tried such a thing and could only hope that his blind instincts could carry him when it mattered.</p><p>He trailed fingertips up, up the inside of Feyre’s leg, starting at her ankle. He mirrored the feather-light touch on Rhys’s leg. At their inner thighs he slowed, circling, enjoying each of their reactions to his teasing, his shadows still lapping and playing around them. Rhys’s lust-darkened eyes began to glaze over while a pretty pink flush bloomed on Feyre’s chest and cheeks.</p><p>He could hardly decide who he wanted to taste first, but Feyre won out by a narrow margin. He continued his teasing of Rhysand as he leaned down and replaced the finger’s on Feyre’s inner thigh with soft kisses. She let out a breathy sigh and a pulse of triumph flashed from her mind, as she shot Rhys a self-satisfied smirk.</p><p><em>“You wound me, Az,”</em> Rhys purred into his mind. <em>“Though I can’t say I blame you, she does taste exquisite.”</em></p><p>Azriel trailed his kisses and his hand higher upon each of them and he pressed his tongue against the apex of Feyre’s thighs at the same moment he gripped Rhysand firmly and stroked. Their pleasure crested over him and he mentally flinched back, some strange repurposing of self-preservation instincts. He was utterly fucked. If he continued to feel their combined pleasure like this he wasn’t going to be able to function.</p><p><em>“Illyrian baby,”</em> Feyre crooned to him even as she pulled her inner self back, just slightly. He had the sense that she tugged a reluctant Rhys with her, the High Lord more than happy to watch Azriel squirm.</p><p><em>Prick</em> he thought, and he heard Rhys chuckle.</p><p>He focused himself on Feyre, devouring her, silently thanking her for understanding that he was too raw to handle the full impact of their presence. He pumped Rhys’s cock in his hand as he licked and nipped at her. He felt them shift on the bed and glanced up to see that they had twisted their upper bodies toward each other slightly. Their lips were locked in a passionate kiss and their hands roved on their upper bodies.</p><p>He could still feel them, could feel the pleasure he was giving them coursing from them into him and back again, but it had lessened just enough that he could think through it. Barely.<br/>He worked on Feyre, letting the taste and scent of her overwhelm his senses until he felt the muscles of her legs begin to stiffen. He slowed his tongue against her, drawing a needy whine from her as she realized he intended to deny her.</p><p>“Patience,” he murmured against her skin, sending his hot breath over her, and pressed a regretful kiss to that bundle of nerves he had been so intent upon. He slid two fingers into her as he pulled his head back and shifted slightly toward Rhys.</p><p>His violet eyes were glowing as Az took him into his mouth, dragging his teeth lightly along his silken length. Rhys threw his head back, moaning, and sent an image back to Azriel, his own face in that moment with his lips around the High Lord. He unleashed himself upon Rhysand, using every trick he had ever realized his friend enjoyed. His fingers curled where he pumped them slow and deep inside Feyre, and she arched, gasping. Azriel sent an unpracticed pulse of pleasure into Feyre, imagining that it traveled back down the tether of her mind and into her body. He was rewarded by her cry of pleasure, and she ground herself harder upon his fingers.</p><p>He was coming undone again, overwhelmed by the sight and sound and smell of them both. He took Rhys deeper into his mouth, to the back of his throat, and pressed his thumb against Feyre as he plunged his fingers in faster, harder. Rhys was palming Feyre’s breasts and they moaned into each other’s mouths as Azriel worked them both higher.</p><p>He felt Rhys tensing, his leg muscles ratcheting tighter with every sweep of Azriel’s lips, and he sent a thought to Az, the echo of the warning he’d been sent earlier.</p><p><em>“Not yet,”</em> Azriel sent him, slowing immediately and sending an accompanying image of his plans.</p><p>Rhys grinned and snapped his fingers, the familiar bottle of oil appearing on his palm. His muscles bunched and coiled as he sat up in a powerful motion to move out of the way. Azriel prowled up Feyre’s body leaving a trail of kisses in his wake and settled his hips between her thighs. He captured her mouth with his own and swallowed her moan, then grasped her and rolled them so that she sat astride him. Rhys shifted behind her and he felt her realization, then her smug anticipation.</p><p>Their minds pressed fully into his once more and he couldn’t wait any longer. Teasing them both had strained his control near to breaking and he would die if he was not inside her soon. He gripped her hips and surged up into her, surprising her with the sudden invasion and drawing a short, breathy cry from her beautiful lips. He smelled the oil and a moment later he felt Rhys’s touch through the thin barrier within her, separating them, as he began coaxing her with two fingers.</p><p>Feyre tipped her head back and groaned from low in her chest. She sent them a rapid blur of images – what she wanted them to do, how it had felt the first time when it had been Rhys beneath her and Azriel kneeling behind. Her urgency swept through them all with the images, and Az felt Rhys withdraw his fingers and begin to work his impressive length into her body, sheathing himself to the hilt alongside Azriel’s cock.</p><p>Their swirling pleasure ravaged him again and again as they stroked into her, and Az surrendered to it and allowed himself to be swept away by them. Consumed by them. Together, he and Rhys managed to hold out until the pleasure reached a crescendo within them and Feyre clenched, muscles locking and crying out, her pleasure sweeping through them all. He spilled himself into her, and was dimly aware of Rhys’s cock twitching against his as he did the same, their voices melding into a discordant but sensual trio.</p><p>They collapsed into a heap of limbs and wings and none of them moved for a long, long while.</p><hr/><p>As he rebuilt the shield around his mind, he left a small sliver open just for them. It wasn’t like their mating bond that seemed able to span most any distance, but it would connect them while they were in the city. He couldn’t explain why he did it, but the idea of shutting them out completely was suddenly more than he could bear. He felt flickers of approval and gratitude from them both, and then they were just a quiet, faint presence on the edge of his mind. He marveled at it. He was not alone.</p><p>He left their room, hearing them begin to stir from the bed before shutting the door behind him softly. A thought occurred to him as he strolled back to his room to bathe before he would join them downstairs for a late lunch, his steps light.</p><p>They had likely ruined him today.</p><p>Ruined him for any other partner than his Mate, if he ever found her. Or him, he supposed. They hadn’t responded when he’d accused them of holding out on him. He suspected they had waited to see how things went, how they all felt about each other before making love to his mind as well as his body. For that was what it had been today, he realized. They had poured their love into him until he had nearly burst from it. He knew he would crave them that much more, now. He had no words for what he had felt today. They had marked him, deep and true.</p><p><em>Two powerful, immortal daemati lovers</em> he thought, smiling to himself and shaking his head.</p><p>Cauldron damn him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>One more round of applause for yafan92's amazing plot that inspired me to imagine this scene. If you enjoyed it, please leave feedback and check out our other work!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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